Why should I let the toad work
Squat on my life?
Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
And drive the brute off?
Six days of the week it soils

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.

He stunk of old stale cigarettes a

Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn’t frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud

“O who can ever gaze his fill,”
Farmer and fisherman say,
“On native shore and local hill,
Grudge aching limb or callus on th
Father, grandfather stood upon thi

I’d seen
their hoofprints in the deep
needles and knew
they ended the long night
under the pines, walking

When I think about myself,
I almost laugh myself to death,
My life has been one great big jok
A dance that’s walked
A song that’s spoke,

All I know is a door into the dar
Outside, old axles and iron hoops
Inside, the hammered anvil’s short
The unpredictable fantail of spark
Or hiss when a new shoe toughens i

Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me
Went for a ride in a flying shoe.
“Hooray!”
“What fun!"
“It’s time we flew!”

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hum
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there t
Here the clam deep in the speckled

Come as you are, tarry not over yo
If your braiding has come loose, i
Come as you are, tarry not over yo
Come with quick steps over the gra
If your feet are pale with the dew